


A Declaration Of Might

by AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Courting Rituals, Demigod Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale is a God, Enthusiastic Consent, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Outdoor Sex, POV Derek, POV Stiles Stilinski, Size Kink, Smut, Stiles Stilinski Has a Big Dick, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22433629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle/pseuds/AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle
Summary: Stiles and his father were moving to a new town, along with Scott and Lydia. The three of them being demigods, at times, tended to complicate things. Especially since Stiles' mother was an elder goddess. He only hoped that if there were any gods that nestled in their new town, they would at least be able to get along. As it turned out, there was one. And they got along more than well. And Stiles had no issue with that whatsoever.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 13
Kudos: 468





	A Declaration Of Might

**Author's Note:**

> This is one my WIP's that had been sitting in my folder forever and a goddamn day. Given that I have one more longish fic that I'm working on, I wanted to try and finish it before my retirement from the Sterek fandom is complete. 
> 
> This was basically an excuse to write elaborate fantasy with some heavy smut at the end. The work is un-beta'd. But I hope you enjoy it all the same. Have fun.

A Declaration of Might

The forest was quiet. Still and calm. A serene picture of green and sweet wind. The moon, a hanging silver orb that illuminated the leaf covered ground. It was a night of the hunt. Being the God of the Hunt, Derek felt at home on nights like this. Where the hunters ran wild and crazed. Chasing prey and felling it with an ease that pleased him.

The little village that worshiped him was bountiful in prey. Plentiful. An abundance of meat to feed ravenous mouths. That was good. However, the harvest had been poor recently. As it had been for several years. The earth reluctant to provide sweet blossoms and lacking a certain vibrancy. As the God of the Hunt, Derek could do nothing for his worshipers.

He could make sure that the deer were plenty. That the fishing nets were always full. That any and all things that could be captured, he made sure that they had. However, they were not wolves. And needed more than meat. The children were sickly some days. Weak and tired for no reason that they could know.

He wished for a new god to place themselves in his woods. More than willing to share the trees with them. As long as his worshipers could have what they needed. Something, anything. Winter was coming. And the Hunt could only be so plentiful. He could not break the laws of the world. He could only bend them.

As he walked through the forest, watching his hunters, the small part of him smiled. Seeing them free and moving. Uninhibited by the worries of the night. Men and women. Alive and darting through the greenery. Tonight’s mark was a stag. Proud and strong. Unyielding and vibrant. A beautiful creature worthy of the Hunt.

One of his worshipers came to stand beside him. A young man. Slender and tall. Hair a bouncing nest of autumn brown curls. Eyes sparkling like sunlight over the water. He was one of Derek’s favorites. He was not a boastful or overly proud man. He offered Derek a portion of each kill he made. No matter how large or small. From rabbits to bears. If the young man took it down, he offered a piece of it.

While he couldn’t guarantee a sizable prey each and every time, Derek always made sure that the young man had something to place in his belly. He lived alone after all. With no wife to call his own. Mother and brother taken by Death. And his father….

Derek was not a god of War. Or Battle. Or Strength. However, a Hunter still had his rage. His might against his prey. The young man’s father drank his days into incoherence. A violent indulgence that provided nothing but his own stupor. Stoking an anger that had no right to exist. The young man taking the full brunt of it.

Derek could do nothing. He was not a god of War. However, he could give the young man courage. The courage he had on the hunt, he could have to take flight against his father. He left, taking a home for himself. Establishing himself as a key fisherman in the village. Bringing in great bounties from the river. Feeding those who could not feed themselves.

The young man’s father faded. Sunk into drink beyond the help of even the mightiest of gods. He died in the cold. In a darkened hut. With no one to love or hold. The young man buried him next to a great oak. Leaving a pair of stag antlers upon his grave. A marking of respect that he did not deserve.

He was older now. Filled out and ready for marriage. If it so pleased him. Most men in the village had a woman. A soft pair of bosoms to rest their head at night. And more than a few children. Families started young here. As it always had. But the young man gave no intention of having one. Not yet anyway.

Derek himself had no wife. No children. Only a family of elder gods that blessed the Hunt. In time, he had found his own worshippers. In this small little village. Nestled in great trees. Peaceful and content. He did not need the big cities greater gods required or even craved. His ego was not that great. Nor would it ever be. His village was good enough. His worshippers grateful and happy.

The young man motions that the stag is close to being taken down. Derek himself raises his spear high. Silently cheering the group on. The final arrow lands its mark. Piercing the beast’s heart. It falls with a large thump. Lifeless and still. He approaches it with silent footsteps.

The hunters bow in respect. In addition, Derek bows back. As a god of the Hunt, he knew his status. He knew himself among his Hunters. Both young and old. Man and woman. He did not find them beneath himself. A god was nothing without his worshippers. In addition, a god who mistreated them was a god not worth praise.

The young man offers Derek a cup of the stag’s blood. Fresh from its heart. He imbibes it gratefully. Sweet and succulent on his tongue. Beautiful and complete. A creature who put up a worthy fight. He happily consumed the offering. Giving the young man a small nod of affirmation. It had been a glorious night. One that Derek would remember as long as his days lasted.

The hunters butcher the beast in the clearing. Dividing the meat amongst themselves. Saving the entrails and other organs for the lame and sickly members of the village. Despite their gamy taste and smell, the meat was hearty. And full of life. It would do them well to eat it.

The young man leaves to check his nets. To see if anything had been trapped or cornered. He was providing for three different families. Their men had either died with cold or been called to war. Something that had removed them. The women could only do so much. Rearing children and working took its toll. Even with the assistance of others. Winter was coming.

There was also the matter of the new lawman. The local lord had sent him. Sent to ensure that the village stayed peaceful and abided. Mainly, to pay their taxes. Matters of coin evaded Derek. As a god of the Hunt, he held no matter or substance for metal beyond its use in a hunt. As it were, money meant less than nothing to him. He was not a god of Commerce or Trade. Therefore, he did not accept offerings of such things.

The people of the village knew that well. And never tried to ply his favor with coin or trinkets. Glimmering gems and sleek silver were all but dirt to him. He desired courage and conviction. Strength and determination. Above all else, a good chase. But that didn’t appease the lord that ruled these lands. A lord that worshipped wealth and wine. Who had not seen the night of a hunt in many moons.

Fattened by greed and cruelty, a most sickly drive. Happy to live off the labor of others. Claiming his titles and wealth and feasts by the nature of his birth. Derek held no love for him. As a god of the Hunt, he found such mortals to be utterly detestable. There was no value to them. Nor would there ever be.

But he was not a god of Law or Governing. He could not and would not interfere in such matters regarding his worshippers. With the harvest short, and the time in which they needed to pay shortening, he could only give them meat. Meat to ply. Meat to trade. Rich cuts, lined with fat. That glistened in the roasting fires. Perhaps their lord would be happy with that.

The trees welcomed him as he walked deeper into their embrace. The night was still young. Full of life and noise. Chittering and chirping and howling. Of all the beasts of the wood, large and small, living. As a god of the Hunt, he relished in it. The sound of life. Unhindered and free. Such a joyous thing it was. Yet, there was something different this night.

It lay on the wind. A subtle thing. Sweet and inviting. An intoxicating perfume that dulled all thought into peaceful oblivion. Where matters of hunts and harvests seemed to be irrelevant. It made Derek wonder just what it was. What such a thing could be, to tempt even a god.

The trees sense his curiosity. And lead him deeper into their greenery. A soft rustle of their leaves tells him that this was the right direction. With each passing step, the scent grew stronger. And Derek deciphered it layers further. Grass. Light. Rain. Freshly tilled earth. So much and so natural. Almost as if it belonged. But even in these thriving trees, such a scent of life had no place. It was not the scent natural to the earth. This was divine in origin. And it intrigued Derek that another god was in his woods.

As he came into a clearing, he saw a figure. Cloaked in white and gold. Shimmering waves of fabric that feel the floor of the forest. They seemed to billow even without the breeze. The young man had his head pressed against a tree. Speaking soft and slow. In a language that Derek could not understand. Whatever he was saying seemed to please the trees. As they vibrated with a certain glee that did not suite the snappy night air.

The other god didn’t notice Derek’s approach. Not that he was trying to conceal himself. This was not a hunt. The other god was not his prey. This was a meeting. And he wanted to make a good first impression. Derek’s family had been the only gods in this area for generations. Always blessing their worshippers with fine meat. This was someone, something new. And he didn’t want to spoil it.

The young man, now seeing almost a boy, takes his head from the tree turning to Derek. Face blank and stone like. He was gorgeous. With eyes the color of sun struck amber. Hair the color of chestnuts roasted on a winter fire. Skin as fine and flawless as masterfully carved marble. Save the beauty marks that started at his jaw. Disappearing down his neck and onto his chest.

Derek had met many men. Gods and mortals alike. None had struck him quite as beautiful as this. That, and the man’s scent allured him in a way that defied any perfume that merchants could dream of. It was ambrosia. Perfect and tantalizing. Far too much to be that of a mortal.

“Welcome stranger. You come to us on a prosperous night.” Derek greeted.

“I heard the sounds of the hunt. Your worshippers seemed most pleased with your blessings. I thought that I would provide my own. Pardon if I gave offense.”

Derek found no offense that the man could offer. The trees would need a god’s blessing. It would keep them full of greenery throughout the long, frigid nights. Where both animals of the land and sky could rest. Away from the chill that would linger in the coming months. It made Derek wonder just what kind of god had come to his woods.

The gods of the Hunt had been the only ones truly worshipped here for many years. One after the other. He himself had found this small little village. With nothing more than clay and straw and simple, un-mastered bricks. It was nothing worthy of fable or praise or majesty. But it was here. Its people were strong and proud. Laborers of all trades that made their lives their own.

Unlike others who made profit from trades of war and slavery, these people were honest. Living off themselves and their neighbors. A beautiful village that had accepted Derek as their local god. Offering him what little they had to spare. Even though he did not ask for it. There was never a day where his worshippers denied him praise and offering. Where he wondered whether he was loved.

However, as the only god, he did find himself lonely. His family had their own places. Where their worshippers praised and devoted. They did meet once a year on the great harvest. When the moon was close, and full. A swollen ivory orb that dominated the sky with its majesty. That time was some months away. And he longed for the embrace of his family. This new god, perhaps, would stave off the ache that plagued his heart.

“You bring blessings are most welcome. Especially at this most aggrieved and stressful time. There is to be a new lawman. And the villagers worry what he brings with him.”

“Well, in a twist of the fates, the lawman brings me. As he is my father.” The other god said. Derek took a turn for that. The man, for all that he seemed, appeared to be divine. But if what he said was true, then he was half mortal. A demigod. Though, a rather powerful one. Astonishingly so.

“I think that you jest. Surely a mortal could not have sired such majesty.”

“And I think you a silver tongued fool. But indeed, my father is mortal. And a good one. He comes at a lord’s word. To bring peace as times of war loom and prosper. Despite my constant prayers.” The other god said.

That was a strange concept. Mortals were the ones that prayed. Their devotion to whatever god they worshipped is what gave power and life to the power to the divine. Allowing them to prosper and bestow blessings amongst the pious and favored. It was what gave the power, if you will. As a god of the Hunt, Derek thrived on the chase. The thrill of coordination and effort.

He himself was a master of all weapons of the Hunt. And those who taught themselves, devoted to learning the craft gave him strength. And he returned in thrice over. So long as his worshippers proved themselves. That’s what he asked. That’s what he expected. He didn’t know what a man, whose parentage included that of the divine, would pray to.

It was a baffling thought. One that made no sense to a god. Perhaps it was the mortal side of him. One that hoped, longed, and prayed. Appealing to whatever that could be appealed to. Perhaps it would work in his favor. A man who could offer more than just prayers, a man of divine blood, would certainly receive attention.

“Whatever gods you pray to, I hope they listen. As we need good tidings. I would ask your name. Should you give it.”

“My mother, while a wondrous woman of great renown, was not the kindest in naming me. I fear that you may not speak the language well enough. So, for the time we share these woods, you may call me Stiles.” The man said.

“Derek, God of the Hunt. Lord of Triumph. Master of Spear, Blade, and Bow.”

“Quite a lofty set of titles. Your worshippers must love you dearly. I do wonder, should they be so accepting of a stranger in their woods.”

Derek did not think that they would have any reason to dislike Stiles. Though he had been the only god amongst the trees for many years, he did not think of his worshippers as shallow or callous. Given that they needed someone of Stiles’ power, it was the likelihood above all others, that he would receive a bounty that Derek had yet to see.

The crops were well enough that the villagers could survive the cold nights to come. Though, only barely. It would a be long few months before spring could return. Dimly lit fires with as many bodies huddled around them as they could manage. There were plenty of trees to chop for wood. But it was the matter of the winds and snow that would bring the trouble with them.

Stiles, or at least his mother, seemed to be a god of spring and nature. The very air around him was sweet and vibrant. Full of life at his presence. It was a magical thing that warmed the skin and heart alike. Derek hoped, as much as a god could, that Stiles’ presence would bring a mild winter. Where the winds were gentle and calm.

“You seem worried, even after such a successful Hunt. Have you any more concerns, or are you always in such a brooding mood.”

“I do not, nor have I ever brooded.” Derek snapped.

“Those obsidian eyebrows of yours say differently. Oh noble Lord of the Hunt.” The smile across Stiles’ face was welcome. While Derek did not consider himself as a stern god nor a spiteful one, it had been some time since he had been teased. He was a young god by his family’s standards. And they let him know it on every occasion that they could. Stiles didn’t seem to mind a slight mockery. Derek actually welcomed it.

The young man took off against the forest floor. Feet silent and swift. Laughing as he tore across the still damp ground. Derek, taking a moment to process, was quick to give chase. As a god of the Hunt, there was nothing he loved more. But Stiles wasn’t prey. He was just a mischievous young demigod that had little more to do than to play. And Derek, for the life of him, couldn’t find any reason to deny him.

***

Stiles didn’t know what to expect when he came to the village. He wasn’t expecting much. The lord of the land had assigned his father to this remote place. For what reason, he didn’t know. These were forest people. They didn’t have much in the way of arms or anything that could pose a threat. It was unlikely that they even knew of the tensions brewing in the lands the king had set to conquer.

The gods of War and Death were rather busy these days. As were their children. The king was cruel and selfish. Wanting and setting out for conquest. Stretching his hand far past what he had any real right to. Three countries had now fallen to his power. And more were sure to follow. Stiles could only hope to avoid being drawn into the fighting.

Though not a full god, there were still plenty that would be happy to abuse his powers. Ironically, he didn’t quite understand his own powers. They were rather similar to his mothers. Though on far smaller, and less grand scale. Wherever she went, nature seemed to respond. Falling to her touch in reverence and holy respect. That’s what amazed him the most. That her sheer presence curbed man, beast, and tree alike. He was still learning just what that meant.

Animals seemed to love him. Grass grew greener where he stepped. Flowers bloomed far earlier than they should have. And even in the midst of the colder months, it was on the verge of warm. Almost as if winter never really arrived. The days suspended in late autumn, ready for spring to burst through. The others of the village loved him for it.

It was the worst kept secret that he was a demigod. The child of an ancient, primordial goddess and a mortal man. Which was a rather interesting combination in of itself. His father was no one overly special. At least, amongst mortals in general. But there was something about him that drew the eye of his mother. Enough that they sired him into the world. When there were plenty of actual gods to choose from.

His birth brought plenty of attention. There was offerings a plenty on each of his birthdays. Even after his mother left, back to whatever realm from she hailed. Stiles tried his best not to think of it. He knew that she wouldn’t stay forever. As did his father. Such powerful goddesses were bound to no one, but themselves. Even their children didn’t chain them down. They had enough confidence in their offspring that they could be left to their own devices.

There were plenty of those who sought to use the absence of his mother to their advantage. Thinking Stiles as young, naïve fool. With no real knowledge of the world. But he knew the difference between those who actually sought to worship. And those who would exploit the powers he had been born with. Perhaps that’s why they had been forced to live in this remote area.

The lord of the land had lofty ambitions. Enough to the match the king that he served. Enough that there was a hint of treachery in his eye. He required a gathering of every lawman, from every village near the end of autumn. Just shy of the Harvest Moon. It was an opportunity to show off his wealth. And his station as their master. Stiles hated the affair each and every time he was made to attend.

Children generally weren’t permitted. But Stiles’ father didn’t heed the orders of the lord. Refusing to leave Stiles alone for even a single hour. With his mother gone, he was bound to protect him at any and all costs. Even at the potential wrath of a most vicious man. It was easy at first. Stiles’ powers didn’t really manifest without his consent. That changed as he got older.

The first time attending the banquet as an adult, he mere presence seemed to make things come alive. It was difficult to make so much greenery behave. Flowers budded and bloomed in the same hour. Grass grew to stand as high as a man’s waist. There was no curbing it. As much as he tried. It brought the attention of each and every person he passed.

When he and his father finally arrived at the castle, a small procession followed him. Mostly famers that wanted their crops blessed for the coming harvest. Even if he wanted to, Stiles had no real knowledge of how to do that. At least, not to the point that they wanted. He offered them a simple handful of dirt he prayed over. Hoping that it would be enough to ensure a bountiful harvest should they spread it over their fields.

The lord of the land was pleased at his arrival. For years, there had been plenty of talk about Stiles and his father. As well as the village they hailed from. Stiles largely ignored them. Until now, when he wasn’t given the option. The lord personally greeted them. Shaking their hands rather than expecting them to bow. There was an immediate sense of danger. For one so boastful and proud to be so prim and respectful. Stiles knew to be wary.

For the most part, the feast had been a success. The lord flaunted himself about like a cock preening its feathers. That was, until the end, when he declared he had an announcement to make. There was a new god. One that had honored them with his presence and would be ensuring a bountiful harvest for the crops in the surrounding fields and onwards. He was talking of Stiles. Who did not intend to become a god of anything. Especially not to one such as the lord before him.

Though it was made clear that he would not be given much of a choice. The lord brought attention to his father. And ensured that his station would continue to be preserved. The implication being that Stiles needed to obey in order for it to remain so. That, among all the things, Stiles would not stand. His mother had already returned to the heavens from which she came. He would not see his father lost to the greed of a man with no respect for anything but himself.

It was the first time he had ever used his powers in anger. His abilities brought life, bounty, and vibrancy. But nature, even with all its beauty, knew the bitterness of wrath. And Stiles was more than happy to set an example. Every scrap of food in the hall soured instantly. The flowers along the wall withering into shrunken black clumps. Just as Stiles could provide nature’s bounty, he could as easily remove it.

The attendants of the feast were taken back by the display of anger. It was one thing to hear of divine wrath. It was another thing entirely to see it up close and personal. For the first time in all his life, Stiles saw fear in the lord’s eyes. As well as father’s. The man wasn’t afraid of his son. He was afraid of what the lord would do in retaliation. And it was swift.

Not a too long after the banquet, his father had received a summons to another village. Where he would take over as the lawman. Hundreds of miles away from their home. From everything that they had ever known. Stiles grieved at his foolishness. In his anger, he had caused everything that they had ever known to be uprooted. Though they wouldn’t be alone in their journey.

His lifelong friend would be coming with him. Scott, like Stiles, was a demigod. His father was a god of Law and Justice. His mother was a mortal woman. And an accomplished medicine practitioner. Healing what few ailments plagued their village. The both of them would be moving with Stiles and his father. Lydia would be coming as well. She, among the entire village, was even more a shock than Stiles.

Her mother was some manner of goddess. One of Funerals and Afterlife. A rare, elusive being that no one had ever laid eyes on. Save for the mortal that had sired with her. No one, even Lydia had ever laid eyes on the goddess. She gave birth to her child, and returned to whatever Underworld she had come from. Leaving behind a powerful young woman that demanded respect by her very existence.

While those in the village had Stiles praise and offering for his ability to bring life, they offered to Lydia to ensure peace. At least, in the life beyond this one. She was a link to the souls of the dead. And frequently spent her nights in the burial grounds. Helping those who could not afford a traditional burial. Ensuring that their lives ended properly. And their souls moved to the next world.

Stiles, for many of his younger years, was enamored with the young demigoddess. While many considered her purpose dark, she was still a remarkable sight. Bright, flowing hair the color of fire cascading past her shoulders. Sharp, piercing green eyes that saw what no mortal, or even other gods could. Others feared her. Stiles all but worshiped her.

Perhaps it was because her mother was a primordial goddess such as his own. Perhaps it was because he was young and foolish. But he spent several years pining after a woman most would’ve left alone. She turned him away each and every time he attempted to woo her. Though not in a manner that was cruel or harsh. Just enough to let him know that she did not intend to being married. Not at the moment any way.

The three of them followed Stiles and his father out the remote little forest village they were now to call home. Travel was becoming more difficult as the wars raged on. With the king needing more and more soldiers to fight his battles for him. And far more money than all but the richest could offer. People were becoming desperate in these harsh times. Stiles knew better than to think that they could travel at night. Even with three demigods in the group.

What should have only taken a week on sturdy stallions became a month long trek across fairly even terrain. They traveled only by the light of the day. Which grew shorter as winter approached. Staying at the smaller inns. As to not attract any unwanted attention. For the first time, in a long time, Stiles had complete mastery over his powers. He didn’t want anyone discovering his abilities. Especially those who would harm his father to exploit him.

When they finally arrived towards the edge of the forest, he felt a presence that he hadn’t felt since his mother. It was a strange thing. Heavy and unmoving. There was a god in these woods. What kind Stiles didn’t know. He could only hope that it was a benevolent one. And that the offspring of foreign gods wouldn’t make offense.

His father and the others went towards the village to set things straight in their new home. They would all be sharing the same house for the time being. Until another shelter could be built, it would have to do. Lydia’s temperament aside. Stiles was more than willing to sleep on the floor to keep her happy. As was Scott.

He instead headed into the woods. Feeling the familiar thrum of nature. Its sweet voice calling to him as his bare feet trekked across the soil. It was soft and supple. The land was healthy. Prosperous, though not as much as his home. He could do plenty. His mother was a primordial goddess of the land after all.

When he speaks to the trees, the stories they tell are endless. His divine parentage allowed him to speak the language of all living things. He could understand nearly everything that moved and grew and breathed. It was a blessing as much as it was a curse. There were plenty of creatures that he’d rather not be able to hear. There didn’t seem to be any in the forest. Though there did seem to be plenty of other voices. Raised in revelry. Shouting into the clear night air. Slicing through it like a blade.

There was a hunt afoot. Stiles didn’t want to be a part of it. His parentage connected him to nature and all that was a part of it. He took great value in living things. Even if he understood that hunting was a part of the cycle of all things, he didn’t revel in it as much as others did. The hunters were rowdy. But not drunk on bloodlust. Stiles gave a silent blessing to their prey. If they were to hunt, he at least wanted it to be a fair hunt.

The trees heard his song, and sang one of their own as thanks. It was a beautiful thing that came through and warmed the deepest reaches of his body. This was the part of his powers he loved the most. Where he could feel the very soul of things. And simply close his eyes allowing himself to be consumed by their splendor.

He pressed his head against the trees. Feeling their very life flow through him. A profound experience that had no equal. As was the presence that had joined him in the clearing. It was the god of these woods. Or at least one that had taken residence here. Whatever the god was, it didn’t feel like his mother. Attuned the great forces of the world. No, this god was primal, but to another side of the world.

When Stiles meets the god’s gaze, he is most certain that he is not a god of Nature or of the Trees. Stiles was a lithe, nearly slender young man. Supple and slim. As most children of nature gods tended to be. This man was as far from that as possible. While equal in height with Stiles, his shoulders were far broader. Arms rippling waves of fine musculature. Skin spattered with scars made by claw and fang. The spear that he gripped further gave notice that he was a god of the Hunt.

As did the massive cloak that draped over his shoulders and down his back. It was that of a great, massive wolf. No, a direwolf. A beast of legend. One that even the most ancient gods would be cautioned to wrestle with. Only the mightiest and most successful hunters had any hope of even scratching the creature. The god that stood before him was no doubt among them. Some said that those who slayed a direwolf could gain the ability to assume its shape. That they could become the hunter that all hunters aspired to be.

Stiles wondered if the god was angry as his intrusion. Of another god’s offspring walking freely through his woods. Though his mother was a peaceful, benevolent woman, Stiles knew that not every god emulated the same sense of mercy and kindness. Gods of the Hunt weren’t known for mercy. In fact, they were exalted for the opposite.

But the man did not seem to be angry. In fact, he welcomed Stiles with a warm expression. Emerald eyes alight with intrigue. It was the first time he’d met any other god than his mother. Perhaps they could indeed get along. That being said, he didn’t think that he would be quite happy with having a demigoddess descended from Death to be in the village.

Stiles decided to not spoil the moment with the fact that he wasn’t the only demigod coming to the village. Derek could deal with that when they arrived. Which would be quick. As he decided to give the god of the Hunt a fun little chase. The man didn’t seem to understand at first. But when he did, he took off like an arrow slung from its bow.

Stiles laughed clear into the night air as his feet tore into the tender soil of the forest floor. It was the first time since they’d set out to the village that he’d felt so free. Surrounded by ancient trees. Meeting a new, amusing god. It was a promising start to his new home. He only hoped that the others would enjoy it as much as he did.

***

Derek gave a proud, valiant chase. Stiles moved like the swiftest of prey. And the god had a hard time keeping his footing as they tore through the trees. Though it wasn’t an actual hunt, he still found himself enjoying every minute of it. He hadn’t had this much fun in ages. Being a god of the Hunt left little time for him to much of anything of the sort.

He caught up just as they reached the edge of the village. Where Derek tackled the other man to the ground. Sending them both sprawling across the dirt in a heap of limbs and laughter. Stiles was pinned beneath him. Ear to ear grin spread across his face. He was enjoying this as much as Derek was. Who seemed to be enjoying it a tad too much.

He had never given much thought to his loins. His life was spent in days of the Hunt. With his worshippers in their little village. Never had the god’s thoughts moved towards marriage or the activities that came with it. Stiles, even as beautiful and innocent as he was, stirred that dormant part of him. That lustfulness that had no place in a god of the Hunt. He was not a god of Fertility nor of Revelry.

The younger man didn’t seem to notice. And if he did, he paid no mind to it. Though there wasn’t any time for him to make a comment. Someone cleared their throat, revealing their presence. It belonged to that of a stunning young woman who Derek didn’t recognize. Her bright red hair was very much out of place in this village. Where the people had hair the color of browning autumn leaves.

Her scent was strong with that of death and burial grounds. She was definitely not a mortal. Though not a full goddess either. More than likely, she was descended from an elder god. Much like Stiles. But no less powerful for her mortal lineage. Derek wondered what she was doing here. And why she had bothered to pay them any attention.

“Good to see you’ve made friendly with the locals so quickly.” She said with a certain bite.

“You know me. Always popular no matter where I go.” From the way Stiles spoke, he knew this young woman. Enough that he wasn’t, in any way, intimidated by her presence. As most men, mortal or god, would be. Derek may have been a god of the Hunt. But all things yielded to Death. Gods were no exception.

“Your presence is strange. But not unwelcome. We are in need of a grave keeper. There are those here who would be happy to pay tribute.”

It wasn’t a lie nor a falsehood meant to placate her. The burial grounds here in the village were without a priest or goddess. Derek was the only deity that was prayed to. Given tribute to. He had no authority over the souls of the dead. He doubted that this young woman did either. But she could at least peer past the veil. Speak with the masters of the afterlife.

Stiles introduced her as Lydia. Lady of the Lost. In their old village, she spent many nights guiding unpassed souls to a peaceful rest. At the very least, she sent them on the path they needed to exit the mortal world. And she wasn’t the only one to accompany Stiles and his father. There was a young man with them as well.

Another demigod. One descended from a god of Law and Justice. Derek felt that he would be good here as well. The village itself was peaceful. The presence of such a demigod would ensure that it stayed that way. And if the new lawman was anything like his son, then this was sure to be a simple transition.

As much as it could be anyway. The others in the village had come to see what the commotion was for. Isaac was the first to join them. He was always a curious lad. Cautious given his father. Always hesitant to trust newcomers. The fact that three demigods were to now reside in their village made for a certain kind of tension. Though he was making eyes at the one with bronze skin and dark hair. Derek smiled to himself, but made no comment.

Two more of Derek’s more devout followers came to see them as well. Boyd, the blacksmith. He was a stout man. With dark skin and firm hands. He hailed from the southern islands. Though he had no trouble worshipping the gods of this land. So long as they were just and fair. His wife, Erica, was the most accomplished midwife in the village. In all her time of practice, though short, she had yet to lose a single babe.

Derek appreciated them as much as he did Isaac. They were much younger than his other worshippers. But paid his tributes and offerings with the same, if not more zeal as the older villagers. The three of them formed a sort of unit. It was odd, and made little sense. At least, to him. But they were happy. And that happiness was no at risk from these strangers. Even if Derek did give his approval.

Erica was the first to approach. Weary of Lydia more than Stiles. She was demigoddess who parentage was that of an elder god of Death. As someone who was responsible for bringing new life into the world, Derek hoped that there wouldn’t be conflict. Erica didn’t seem hostile. Only weary.

Boyd and Isaac were more interested in Stiles. The magnetism that the young demigod possessed was irresistible to even mortals. Derek knew that if they could sense him the way he could, they would have no issue trusting him. Whatever lineage Stiles hailed from was that of nature. Moreover, the crops that grew in their fields would only benefit from his presence. Even if he didn’t bless them. His living here would make things grow lush and tall.

The only one that had come up who seemed to be truly upset was of course Jackson. The young man was merchant’s son. Used to soft, comfortable things. In the village, he was one of the wealthier members. As he made his trade in selling the spoils of their many hunts. Though he rarely joined them. Derek would never have tolerated this behavior on his Hunts. Were people profited off the work and effort of others.

The exception was made for Jackson solely because of the amount of coin that he brought in for the village. And what he didn’t trade for coin, he traded for grain. It was his efforts that they hadn’t lost a single soul to hunger the last three winters. He may not have enjoyed the man’s lack of enthusiasm for the Hunt. But there was no denying that he was very good at his trade.

He bypasses Derek, who has released Stiles from his grip, and marches straight towards Lydia. Though his steps are not angry. They are an urgent. But not angry. The young man was intrigued. Much like the others. Ignoring them as he came to stand in front of the woman. His eyes, normally scrunched with absentminded contempt, were alight with something close to fondness. It was the first time that Derek had ever seen the man look the way he did currently.

Much like Isaac, he never gave time to find a woman. Or he simply couldn’t be bothered. But here, now, all his attention was given to Lydia. The man pulled a simple copper ring from his pocket. Cheap trade by his standards. But a trinket all the same. He offered it to the woman. Who held out her hand. It took a second to realize what had happened. Jackson had declared the intent to court her. All within seconds of meeting her. This was going to make for an interesting morning.

There was another to join them. An older man. Grey peaking at the edges of his chestnut hair. The same color as Stiles. Only faded with time. There were wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Years of labor stretched across them. This was the new lawman the lord had sent. And Derek was currently atop his son. In plain view of the entire village.

“I take it that you’re the god of these woods?” The lawman asked.

“I am.” Derek said as he rose to stand. Stiles smiled coyly as he came to be beside him.

“Good to know you’ve met my son. I can’t imagine what mischief he’s caused as of yet. But I hope he hasn’t paid you offense.”

“None that can be imagined. In fact, he has provided a rather welcome amusement.” The lawman didn’t take offense to the possible innuendo to Derek’s suggestion. Rather, he seemed please that his son had fit in so well, so quickly. If Stiles was truly a demigod, he wouldn’t have fit in amongst his human companions at his previous village. Not really. Those with the blood of the divine always stood out. And not always in a good way.

There had been plenty of mortal men that had sought to exploit Derek’s presence in these woods. Foolish men, rife with hubris. That believed that they could chain a god. He was swift in the lesson that he taught them. Since then, there had been no one brave, or stupid enough to try again. His wrath aside, his worshippers were devoted folk. And would defend him by bow, spear, and blade.

He wondered if Stiles had worshippers. Sometimes, very rarely, demigods would take to temples. They walked the line of the mortal and divine worlds. Giving them equal footing to step between them. Allowing a unique perspective to the gods and of men. It made them popular in many regards. Others, however, would exploit their powers for personal gain. Stiles didn’t seem the type. Nor did he seem to desire worshippers.

Nature gods themselves were primordial forces of creation. Worshippers or not, they would exist regardless. Their power was unyielding. So long as there was a single green thing, so long as one blade of grass existed, so long as the mountains stood tall, they would exist. Mortals could only petition them for their bounty. A strong harvest. The blossoms upon an apple tree. The primordial gods needed no worshippers. Stiles was a child of such a god.

That power given true, mortal flesh was, in its own way, a dangerous thing. Derek could tell that his very presence was breathing life into the trees. Earthworms stirred in the soil. Devouring new found vitality. The beasts of land and sky danced in their sleep. Sweet, tuneful dreams swinging through their heads. Indeed, Stiles had all the power of a lesser god. It would be easy to see why his presence would be beneficial. So far, the villagers seemed to welcome him. Derek certainly did. Only time would tell what this strange young man and his friends would bring.

***

Stiles slept well. Given the amount of traveling they had been doing. He hated wagons. Horseback wasn’t much better. But the roads this far from the city were in disrepair. Full of holes and stray rocks. Bumpy rocking sending them jolting about. It was awful. Lydia, for all she was worth, barely tolerated it. She was dangerous on a good day. He never wanted to see her when she was truly vexed. Her mother was a goddess of Death. Stiles had a feeling she could unleash her own brand of hell.

The day is warm. With a sweet smell in the air. What little crops the people farmed here gave the wind a refreshing undertone. His mother would’ve loved it here. Stiles still missed her. Hopefully, his father could be happy here. It wasn’t unusual to have a god live amongst his worshippers. But they didn’t bend to mortal laws. Derek didn’t seem like the type to make habit of breaking them though. Only time would tell.

His father is already awake when he leaves his room. Barefoot, sitting in front of the fire. The smell of roasting animal fat coming from the pan. In addition, a plethora of fruit and veg covered the entirety of their table. Which was a tad confusing. As they had only brought enough supplies for the journey. Moreover, a week’s worth before they could start work in the village. The question was; where did all this come from?

There was even a pelt of rather fat looking rabbits hanging over the fire. Which explained the smell of animal fat. Stiles’ father may still have plenty of years left, but there was no way that he had hunted this many of them by himself. At least, not in the time since he was asleep. Derek was the most likely culprit behind the rabbits. Being a god of the Hunt and all. Where the veg came from remained a mystery. Though Stiles had a pretty good idea.

In there previous village, there were those who sometimes offered tribute. Even though he was a demigod, his parentage was that of an elder god. One of nature. He could influence the weather. The soil. The sky. Even, if he was truly angry or upset, the sea. However, that was rare. It gave people the impression that he was indeed a controller of their fortune and fates. That he could sway the forces of destiny and give them good favor. The young demigod was more than happy to correct them.

While it was true that he could influence the forces of the world around him, he could never truly break or control them. Most of what he could do was a parlor trick compared to his mother. Who, with a wave of her hand, could topple a mountain. Or level a forest. Or turn a desert into the lushest oasis. Stiles was nowhere near that powerful. He hoped that the villagers here would not mistake him for a true god. Placing him on an altar of worship that wasn’t his to have.

His father seemed more than happy with the boon that the villagers provided. He’d already skinned the rabbits and began roasting them. There was enough meat there for nearly a fortnight. So long as they weren’t greedy about it. Which they rarely were. Boons aside, being a lawman did not provide much in the way of coin. It only guaranteed a roof and a hearth. Nothing else. Stiles worked where he could. There weren’t too many villagers willing to hire him. Save for the farmers. Even then, he didn’t do all that much.

It was mostly walking through the fields and the groves. Speaking with the earth, and the trees, and the beasts. Communicating and singing and feeling. They were happy to have someone. Someone they could talk with and laugh with. The land was good there. Healthy and supple. There was very little that needed doing. The farmers were more than adequate in the treatment of the earth. They paid Stiles regardless. Even if the coin was meager by comparison.

They didn’t have much. The house was comfortable. More sizable than the others because of his father’s station. But that didn’t mean they feasted every night. Had he been a lesser man, and taken from others as man lawman did, that would’ve been a different story. Stiles knew his father would never take advantage over others. He was there to ensure the peace. Even if he did have to collect the taxes imposed by their reigning lord. The task was not done happily.

The people here didn’t seem to have much in the way of coin. They were hunters and fisherman. Not merchants and tradesmen. Good, simple people that had no mind for war or political games. A shame that the lord paid them no mercy or leniency. Stiles wondered if they’d been sent here to boost the yielding of the crops. Therefore giving the lord better output for his own winter storages. Even if that was the case, Stiles was not a true god. He could only push so much before the land pushed back.

Lydia joins them not to much longer after Stiles had walked in. Her hair was the color of a summer sunrise. Cascading downwards past her shoulders. Stiles, even after so many years, was still struck by her beauty. Given that her mother was a goddess of Death, it was no question that she was unique in this world. The ring on her finger said otherwise to the matter. It was garbage by the standards of such things. Yet she had accepted it from the merchant regardless.

She had never been one to flirt or flounce herself around. The villagers back home tended to ignore her entirely. As the powers she possessed frightened them. A few brave souls had tried in the past. She had turned them down politely, but firmly. No man had ever been brave enough to try again. Stiles, chief among them. This Jackson fellow was hearty in spirit if he, a mortal with no divine blood whatsoever, had the will to even think of courtship. Especially after only gazing at Lydia once.

Stiles didn’t know the reason behind her decision to accept such a thing so readily. He tried not to think about it too much. Just as he could speak and sing with all that walked the earth and sky, Lydia could speak to the world hereafter. She did not speak often of the strange ability. Many of their mortal villagers feared her greatly. For the power to see into the world of the dead was seen as highest among the gods. To have it in a mortal body was something that few could comprehend.

For the most part, after her mother left, she was at the behest of her father. Who doted on her like a queen. The man loved his daughter more than anything. Even if she was descended from a goddess of Death. Lydia grew loved by what family she had. And appreciated by the dead she helped pass to the next life. Spirits never plagued their village. Fields were always in bloom due to Stiles’ powers of the land. And always peaceful because of Scott’s sense of righteousness. He wondered just how they would fair now that all three of them were gone.

Melissa had also accompanied them. As the village’s most accomplished healer, she was kept many souls alive when Death would’ve taken them. It helped when Lydia was able to tell who was the closest to passing. She was here now along with the rest of the lot. And Stiles wondered just how their new home would take to them. Judging by the offerings they had left, they were more than happy to welcome the entirety of their oddball family.

Breakfast is meager. There was no need for a lavish first thing in the morning. Stiles was taught by his father to be humble. He may have the powers of an elder god, but he lived and breathed among mortals. That didn’t change because of his divine parentage. He never boasted or elevated himself. That’s how it always was. Lydia was slightly less enthused, but otherwise made no complaint on the matter.

Scott enters the house, covered in a thin layer of dust and dirt. He had made a habit of always running a patrol across the village when they were children. It wasn’t uncommon for the odd bandit to show up. A simple thief looking for an easy target. Even as a child, his sense of justice prevailed. Now, as an adult, he still did the same thing every morning. It was routine that he had never deviated from. Just as Stiles walked through the trees, his friend walked between the houses. Ensuring all a good night’s sleep. His father had the young man eyed as a potential lawman in the near future. The young demigod would certainly excel at it.

Breakfast itself is a short affair. Lydia moves away their mess, without even asking for help. She may have been pampered, but she was by no means snotty. Scott set the cleaning to be done, while Stiles’ father set out for his daily business. Melissa had yet to rise. She was never much of a morning person. Stiles himself was ready to start his own day.

The villagers were kind enough to pay a tribute to him and his friends. Even though they had done little more than arrive. He thought it good to repay them by walking through the fields. Speaking with all things growing. All things blooming. See if they wanted for anything. And that if he may be able to give it to them.

When he leaves, there are bottles of wine atop the porch. They must’ve been delivered while they were eating. Stiles himself wasn’t much of a drinker. It wasn’t a bad thing to enjoy. But the actual feeling of intoxication didn’t suit him. His father would it enjoy though, and Melissa often used it in her practice to calm the hysterical.

The day is warm and bright. With a clear, cloudless blue sky overhead. There’s even a slight breeze in the air. The sweetness of the crops growing nearby gives Stiles pause. Its small, chittering tune rings delightfully in his ears. The land is happy. Full of life and song. Much like his old village. It was to be a good day. He willed it to be so.

The rest of the village is awake. The telltale sounds of their chatter arising. Hammers pounding on anvils. People hustling to the small bathhouse. He personally preferred to bathe in the river. Its waters clear and bright. Unlike the clouded steam of so many people crammed together. It wasn’t a bad thing, per say. But his mother’s blood longed for the tranquility of nature. The fell of the land beneath his feet. That’s where he felt most at home. That’s where he felt his best.

The other villagers that pass him take a small pause. Bowing their heads in almost imperceptible way. He bows back. Despite not being a god. The mortal would always give head to the divine. Even a half-blood like him. There was never a time in his life that he wasn’t subject to worship, and he tried to quell it where he could. The laws and forces of the world would hear what he had to say. What he felt and what he could give. That didn’t mean that they would always listen.

The first field he reaches blooms heavily with sweet smelling wheat. It sings and dances in the wind. Elated at Stiles’ presence. It was a wonderful thing. Sharp and clear. He often wondered how much more he could hear had he been a full god. What his mother heard as she came across the fields and the trees.

He runs his hands across the grain. Fingertips barely brushing their tips. Wishing good health, and protection against weather and pest alike. The people here couldn’t grow much. What they could would be needed. Winter was fast approaching. And while Stiles’ presence would stave off the colder nights, that wouldn’t fill empty bellies.

The farmer meets him in the field. Carrying with him a skin of water, and a basket of bread. Stiles accepts the water while politely declining the bread. He’d already had breakfast. There was no reason that he needed to take food when it was not needed. There were enough offerings at their house as it stood. Accepting it would’ve been greedy.

The man introduces himself as Alan Deaton. Much like the other man he’d met last night, Alan hailed from the southern islands. Stiles didn’t know much about them. Save for that they were a dark skinned folk. Having living so many thousands of years basking in the sun. That, and they were accomplished sailors. Making fine, sturdy ships that stood up to wave and storm alike. Though there was something else about him that stood out.

He wasn’t divine, but there was something about him that wasn’t quite human. Something between mortal and divine. Stiles could tell the man communed with nature often, and well. The field chirped at his presence. Singing a soft little song that was almost unnoticed. For a mortal, or whatever he was, he was powerful in a certain way.

Stiles gives thanks for the water. Promising that his blessing will hold to the harvest. That his crops will be safe from both pest and disease alike. With the skin in hand, he makes his way towards the river. The day is warm enough for a bath. Though he knows the air will chill later on. He could just tell, as always.

The water is clear. Running smoothly over rock and greenery. Fish swimming to and fro. Dancing the eternal dance they always would. He was less in tune with the animals that made their home in the water. He could hear them, but he could not understand them. Even if stilled himself, and listened closely. One or two words may have come through. Nothing that made sense.

He leaves his robes upon a high rock. Away from the water. The day was warm. Not warm enough to walk in wet robes. The first kiss of the river on his feet sends a pleasant shiver through his back. It is clean and pure and good. This land was small, tiny in a delightful way. The people were honest and true. Stiles imagined himself growing old here.

Away from the war. Away from lords and kings and all manner of nasty people. The ones that saw him as an opportunity. And little else. He despised them. Mortals that couldn’t see past their own greed and ambition. Here, the people thought of nothing beyond what they could grow. They didn’t dream of mountains of gold. Or glittering jewels decorating every surface.

He liked it here. Felt at peace here. More so than he had since the banquet. The young demigod lets the water wash away his stress. Smoothing his muscles and calming his heart. His body as well. He was a young man now. With a young man’s urges.

He had never acted upon them. Though there were more than a few in the village who would have indulged him. Gods of the earth and their children were often associated with fertility. With that association came misunderstandings.

Stiles could make the earth sprout proud and tall. Spreading seas of green that would swallow mountains. Or so his mother told him. That was the earth. He, to his knowledge had no prevue over the matters of mortal loins. And what could be made with them.

Several women in the village back home desired children. Their fathers offered handsome sums of money. Or even their daughters hand. A child born of an elder god’s blood, no matter how diluted, was sure to prosper.

He was naïve and foolish. But he still knew better than to accept. His own father would have wrung his neck. His mother taught him to use his powers for good. And that purposefully, selfishly using them would bring about unfettered misery.

The old gods were foolish like that. Their power made them arrogant. Their power made them complacent. Perhaps that’s why so many people were offering less and less each year. Relying on lesser gods. Calling on them. Offering their prayers and coin.

Even still, Stiles couldn’t deny that his own loins ached. That he craved the touch of another. The warm embrace. Cradled on a bed of furs. With a warm hearth blazing in the chilled night air. It was a dream within a dream. One he hadn’t thought about it a quite some time.

Just as he washes his hair, he feels the earth sing. A god walked among them. He turned see the Hunter. Carrying a fresh boar. The thing was massive. Cradled on the god’s shoulder, it looked very out of place. And in the same moment, very in place.

He couldn’t be bothered to find himself embarrassed. Back home, the villagers bathed in the river frequently. Nudity wasn’t something that was to be ashamed of. He had none to spare. Though, Derek seemed more attune to it. As his eyes were a fierce, hunter red. Like freshly spilled blood.

A god such as him delighted in the revelry of a chase. Stiles was no prey, but Derek looked upon him as if he were. It sent a chill down his spine. He knew that look. He knew and knew it well. A ravenous, lustful thing. The Hunter God desired him.

At the very least, the man wasn’t obnoxious or playing his position. There were plenty of mortals that did that enough. Leave it to an actual god to have some sense of decorum. Stiles, if nothing else, could be grateful for that.

“I regret to inform you that I am not prey. As much as you’d like me to be.”

“A conquest then. A challenge.” Derek smiled wickedly. Stiles loved it.

“I am not some castle to storm and conquer. Demigod I may be, but I was raised by mortals. As such, you’ll have to do things the mortal way.”

Stiles returned the god’s smile, walking out of the river. Water dripping from his still wet hair. Derek did not follow as he dressed himself. Pity, he would’ve liked to see where things had gone. If nothing else, he’d been entertained for the day.

***

Derek’s cock was harder than it’d ever been. He’d laid with gods. And he laid with mortals. But none of them compared to the intensity that he’d found in Stiles. The young demigod was ravenous to behold. A sight that would stir the loins of even the sternest monk.

Perhaps it was because of his mother’s blood. The old blood. The blood of the earth. Strong. Rich. Vivacious. There was an allure there. Something that he hadn’t encountered with others like him. Stiles was…A presence.

Wherever he went, people knew he was there. People knew what he was. People knew what he could do. It was an enticing thing to see and feel. He had the power of a god. Yet the blood of a mortal. Derek hadn’t stood a chance from the moment they met.

He was a god of the Hunt. Proud. Noble. Strong. The lovers he had in the past fell into his bed without much effort. Even gods got lonely. But Stiles wasn’t like other gods. He was raised in the world of men. And men did not going chasing potential bedmates through the woods like a beast.

Derek wondered just how he could woo the young demigod. How might a mortal take such a path. The only skill he had was the Hunt. But he assumed that Stiles wasn’t the type to appreciate a stag’s head. Or the head of any beast for that matter.

As he hauled the boar back to the village, he pondered and pondered and pondered still. On how best to pursue the man. He came from the blood of the olds gods. The gods of the earth. Of the land and mountain and tress. Of the sea and rivers. Green, bright things is what they craved. A life among life. Derek was a god that frequently took it.

The villagers bowed their heads as he passed. The butcher was happy to see him. The man’s skill with a knife was unmatched. And he cleaned every carcass with precision and care. Derek trusted him to give the meat to those who needed it the most.

When he was done, he headed towards the blacksmith. Boyd was a proud man. Proud in his blood. Proud in his craft. Derek could always trust that his work would never disappoint. He had forged several spears since he’d come to settle here. Each one could’ve felled a direwolf with ease.

The man is hammering away at an anvil. Strong arms bulging with each strike of the hammer. Sparks flew as Derek watched man work. Like tiny fires that extinguished themselves before they hit the ground. It was a beautiful thing to witness.

The man drops the blade into a barrel of water. Heat sizzling and steam rising. When he looks up, there is a smile across his face. Derek always felt welcome here. Derek always felt like he had a place. The folk were simple, and hardworking. He appreciated that more than anything.

“You look happy. That good of a hunt?”

“Better than I expected. What I found is promising. Though he seems intent to tease.”

“He?” Boyd smiled even wider. It was no secret that Derek had yet to take a mate. Plenty of lovers and bed partners. But nothing concreate. He didn’t despair about it. he was young god, and had plenty of time.

Boyd was one of his more devoted worshippers. And desired to see his patron happy. Actively seeking meant that he’d be pursuing something more than just fleeting. Stiles deserved more respect than that. Deserved his attention and affections.

The only issue was that he didn’t know how to woo him. He was vastly stronger than Derek. Their difference in position meant that Derek had to try even harder that he’d normally would. There were plenty of ideas.

But they would suit a god of the Hunt. Stiles came from the gods of the earth. He would wanting not something slain and presented as a trophy. He’d want something…delicate. Meaningful. Full of ten thousand unspoken things.

Which meant that Boyd would be of no help. Gods of the earth did not appreciate the skill of a blade, or its maker. Even if the materials to make them came from the land. He needed ideas on how to move forward.

“You seem stumped. Is he truly that vexing?”

“He’s descended from a different line of gods. I’ve no knowledge of how to make him see me.”

“He’s already seen you. What you need, is for him to know that you see him. Not as something to take to bed.” Boyd retrieved the blade from the barrel.

“And what would you suggest?”

“His mother is a goddess of the earth. What do we offer to such a being?”

Grain. Fresh cream. Succulent wine. All manner of things. If it came from the land, it was repaid, in part, to the gods of the land. That their fruits became such wonders under the labor of men. That’s how people worshipped such gods.

Derek had been raised by gods of the Hunt. People offered him fresh cuts and antlers. Things that came with the slaying of all the beasts of land and sky. Feathers of great birds and so on. Stiles was…Different. Different from anyone Derek had ever met. And it excited him more than anything.

There were ten thousand thoughts that crossed through his head. Back and forth, to and fro. He had so many ideas and none. There weren’t many things that he could do in terms of wooing. Most of his lovers wanted him for nothing more than what they could do in a bed.

He’d never had the chance to properly woo someone before. And that’s what he wanted. Stiles would no doubt be a fantastic lover. That was. His cock, even flaccid, was endowed. Derek’s mouth watered at the thought of tasting it. Of taking the young demigod into his mouth, and sucking him down.

Of all the sounds he’d make. That porcelain skin flushed pink with arousal. He felt his own cock stir at the mere idea of it. He had to actively restrain his lust. He may have been a god of the Hunt, but he still had his dignity about him.

He delivers the boar to the butcher, and set back towards the river to bathe. It wasn’t much of a bath. He had his hand wrapped round his cock within seconds. The scent of Stiles still lingered. Tickling his nose, and flaming his loins into a frenzy. He comes with a grunt, and continues bathing himself. Trying to ignore just how senseless he’d been since meeting the young demigod.

***

Stiles was grateful that no one was home. He’d been hard pressed to do what needed to be done if the house was otherwise inhabited. Which was jerk himself off. Repeatedly. Back to back. He hadn’t felt this much lust in some time. And it was going to be a problem.

Perhaps it was because his mother was an elder goddess. Or perhaps because he was a man in general. But his cock was always ready to stand at attention at the slightest thing. Derek had not been helping that. The man’s form, even when smeared in the blood of a kill, was tempting beyond measure.

Stiles imagined what he’d look like when all the furs he wore were removed. He’d seen his chest. rippling with firm muscle, and peppered with dark hairs. No doubt the rest of him would be the same. He wondered what his cock looked like.

It probably hung heavy between his legs. Beautiful and dark. Thick to. He twists his hand around his own member. His hips bucking like that of a stallion in rut. He was desperate. This was the third time, and his cock was still hard and angry red. It took another two before his balls felt empty.

Another hour to clean up after himself. He blushed at the mess he’d made. There was a certain kind of embarrassment that came with it. Just as he’d finished, he heard the front door open.

Lydia had come home. Seemingly glowing and bright. Stiles smiled wickedly, but knew better than to make any form a comment. Given how she was, and what she could do, he was no more the fool in teasing her. That could wait until later. He was no better for himself. Given his infatuation with Derek. And his slight embarrassment in the matter.

He had fawned over Lydia for years. She respectfully declined him. For which he was grateful. Now, she had a suitor. And a rather attentive one at that. Given the state of her. Jackson seemed a good enough man. Certainly not fearful of Lydia’s goddess blood. And certainly not fearful of her own presence.

Scott arrives not long after. Hair disheveled, and a darkening mark upon the side of his neck. Stiles does chuckle at that. The young demigod was never one for careless endeavors or casual inclinations. However, this day, it seemed his loins had gotten the best of him. Stiles did not have to be a genius to figure as to whom such debauchery was caused by. Isaac had made eyes at Scott from the moment of their arrival. As long as they were happy. Now, he needed to figure out his own romantic pursuits. He had told Derek that he was not prey. That being said, he had no ill feelings at the idea of being chased by a god of the hunt.

***

Derek fidgeted like a pup on his first hunt. Boyd had artfully crafted what he had asked. Quickly as well. Stiles was a descended from the gods of the earth. He would desire a babble or such that reflected the beauty of that heritage. Derek could only hope that what he had chosen would fit that.

Thinking of the young demigod stirred him in a way that he had yet to feel his life. There was a draw that came with him. a sense of belonging. A sense of self. A sense of lust for life. Yes, Derek’s loins ached along with his heart. He had seen the young demigod bathing. Catching a glimpse of the beauty he possessed. Just a glimpse. He wanted more.

He waits until the day is in its later hours. Stiles’ father was a lawman. With that position came certain duties and expectations. Stiles may not have been following in his father’s footsteps. But he did not want to be discourteous or rude. So, he waited. He waited until he felt himself pulled to the young man’s abode. He is not dissatisfied with what he is greeted with.

Stiles is dressed in silver robes. A great smile stretched across his face. Clearly happy to see Derek. Even if his arrival was announced. Lydia stares at the two of them from the foreground. One eyebrow cocked nearly to her hairline. The message was clear. And Derek didn’t need to ready any further into the subtext.

“I was wondering if you were free to talk a walk this evening?” Stiles does not answer him. Instead, he takes Derek by the hand. Leading them away from the house, and out into the setting sun. The man does not protest or make noises of discontent. He is more than happy to follow wherever Stiles was leading him. Which, as it turned out, was the forest.

In the fading light of the sun, everything seemed….Different. Out of focus somehow. Bathed in orange and pink. Derek loved the forest as much as anyone. Stiles, however, was a descended from the gods of the earth. This was his truly his domain if there was ever anywhere else. He felt comfort here. He felt at home here. Even if he had not quite gotten used to the trees as of yet.

They delve deep into the greenery. Laughing as the trot across the forest floor. Derek does not find himself in need of much of anything else. When they stop, Stiles drops himself down. Laying across soft grass. Face covered in a thin sheen of sweat. It is a beautiful sight. Derek wonders what else his face would look like, and what he could do to make it so.

He produces dried meat and cheeses from his satchel. As well as a skin of water. Stiles takes them greedily. Devouring them with a hunger that Derek had not noticed. Perhaps he had not eaten dinner. It does not matter. Derek is content to watch him be nothing more than himself.

They stay like that for a while. Sitting on the grass. Talking of small, idle things. Stiles speaks of the trees. And all that they say. And all that they sing. Derek could hear the forest, but he did not speak the language of green things. That was not in his gift. The way Stiles described it, they were as people. Each with their own voice and temperament.

They walk to a large oak. Stiles places his hand against the trunk, closing his eyes as he listens. Derek is mesmerized. Entranced by the simple act of watching the man. He sees more and more the longer his eyes are fixated. More than he could have ever dreamed. It was in this moment that he produced the trinket that he had made.

It was a small thing. Carved from dark stone. Simple, but elegant. It was in the shape of a great mountain being engrossed by a tree. Stiles was descended from the gods of the earth. The symbol of that heritage was something that he would be proud to carry. Even more so as it was something that he could do as a mortal. Derek had considered that when he had Boyd craft it. Stiles was a demigod, and he to honor both sides of that coin.

He accepts it with a preposterous smile splashed across his face. he smells of happiness and elation. Derek does not have time to say anything about it, or to declare his intentions. Stiles’ lips meet his on a soft, warm his embrace. He tastes of spring. Bright, pure, and clean. He feels his loins stir in interest. And without realizing it, he pushes the man against the tree. Pinning his hands above his head. Stiles does not protest. Nor does he seem to want to.

“I will stop. You need only ask.” Derek’s lips are but a hair away from the other man’s. Even as he felt his blood quicken, he wanted to assure himself. That Stiles lusted for him in the way that he did.

“Believe me, oh noble God of the Hunt, if I wanted you stop, you would not still be standing.”

Derek laughed at Stiles’ audacity. It was a rare enough thing. Seeing someone who did not fear him as a god of the hunt. Most were, at the very least, intimidated. But not him. Not Stiles. If anything, he was goading Derek on. Egging him. Teasing him. He decided to reciprocate.

When they kiss again, it is heavier. Louder. And by no means proper. Derek does not find it in himself to care all that much. Stiles does not seem to mind anymore from the first kiss. Though, he was starting to squirm ever so slightly. Derek still had the man’s hands pinned above his head. And with good reason. Stiles had teased, and now, it was Derek’s turn.

With his free hand, he runs his fingers under the demigod’s robes. Feeling soft, supple skin. The first slip of it reveals a tantalizing expanse of the man’s shoulder. Derek wastes no time in putting his mouth on it. Stiles’ skin is warm and flushed. He breathes in great huffs. The god can smell the lust building in his loins. He doesn’t bother with teasing for too long. Removing the remainder of the man’s robes. Letting them fall.

The sight that greets him is…wonderful. Derek had an inclination that Stiles would be endowed. Given that blood of his divine parentage. But this…this was even better. The man was indeed endowed. His cock was already red and flushed. Heavy with blood. Thick veins running along the side. Derek felt his mouth water. And he had to restrain himself. Lest he move things too quickly.

Stiles is still squirming when he latches onto his nipple. Gently biting down with the barest hint of pressure. It’s enough to make the man hiss. In the best way possible of course. He pushes against the hold keeping his hands in place. Derek only tightens it.

He works his way down. Running his tongue along the trail of hair that leads to the man’s groin. When he can bend no more, he releases the demigod’s hands. Dropping to his knees. Burying his nose in that soft bundle of hair. He savors the soft, sweet musk of the man’s cock. How tantalizing it is. He takes the man’s balls in hand. Gently rolling them between his fingers. They match his cock in size. They’re damn near the size of a hen’s egg. Stiles is damn near shivering when Derek takes him into his mouth.

The first taste of him across his tongue makes Derek…well…he growls. There is a deep, primal satisfaction that comes with giving Stiles pleasure. The man hisses in delight. Hips bucking forward. Fucking his cock further into Derek’s mouth. He does not mind. He grabs the man’s ass, urging him forward. Telling him to abandon his restraint. Stiles does so without a moment’s hesitation.

Derek had laid with men before. He had taken men into his mouth before. None were as endowed as Stiles was. the demigod fucked down his throat with wild abandon. Sliding his cock down Derek’s throat without an ounce of restraint. He only chokes a little. He does not stop. Derek can feel the tension building in Stiles’ legs. He knew that the man’s toes were curling.

When he comes, it’s hard. Stiles shoots hot, thick ropes down his throat. Derek swallows all it, savoring the demigod’s taste as he climaxes. He does not give the man any reprieve. Just as he finished emptying his balls, Derek is back on his feet. Mouth clashing with the other man’s. Teeth clacking together. Stiles runs his hand through the other man’s hair. Pulling him closer. Breathing heavily. Debauched and filthy.

Derek felt as if his own cock was going to burst. Stiles was warm and sweaty and he tasted so damn good. Carefully, gently, he pulls away from the other man. He whines at the loss of contact. Derek rewards the man’s patience by stripping off his own clothing. Revealing the entirety of his form to the demigod. He seems aptly pleased. Given the way his eyes seem to bulge in his head.

Derek slots their bodies together. Aligning their cocks. Stiles’ is still slick with his spit, providing ample glide as they move together. The demigod’s cock is still rock hard. Dark red, and flushed at the tip. Derek’s own is leaking beads of precome across the other man. He savors the sight of the two of them moving together. Hungry. Desperate. Overcome.

Stiles’ cock is larger than his own. Thicker as well. Derek wonders what it feel like. To have the man pin him down, mounting him in a frenzy. Fucking him into the forest floor as beasts would do. His hole twitched at the thought. The idea of Stiles taking him. Having him any way he wanted. But now was not the time for that. Derek could barely restrain himself as it was.

“Need to fuck you.” He whispers into the other man’s ear. Teeth nibbling at the lobe.

Stiles does not protest. In fact, he seems rather enthusiastic with the idea. Given how tightly he grabs Derek’s cock. The man growls again. A deep, lustful thing. Powered by his own desire. Thankfully, he had come prepared. He retrieved the small vial of oil he had thought to bring in his satchel.

Stiles does not make a noise of complaint as Derek turns him round. Hand against his head, arching his back. Exposing the man’s tender hole. It was covered in soft, downy hair. Derek wanted more than anything to get his mouth on it. To savor the scent of it. To savor the taste of the man’s musk. He imagined it to be stronger than that of his cock. Heavier. Headier.

Another time, as he was shaking beyond belief. Legs barely able to keep him standing. Uncorking the vial with his teeth, he pours a healthy amount of oil onto his fingers. Stiles vibrates with impatience. The first slip of the man’s finger into his hole earns a healthy moan. It’s a debauched thing. Full lust and unspoken filth. Derek presses deeper. Trying to find that sweet, precious spot inside the man.

He doesn’t find it until the second finger slips into the demigod. But when he does, Stiles pushes back with unrestrained wantonness. Derek doesn’t bother in wasting time adding the third finger. Sliding into the man’s walls. Fucking him with his digits. The demigod isn’t even trying to be quiet. His moans fill the forest. Sending out across the evening air.

When Derek extracts his fingers from the man, he can see his hole twitch. Hungry. Desperate. He slides his cock into Stiles slowly, deliberately. Careful not to hurt the other man in his manic fever. He meets no resistance as he feels his cock enveloped in tight, overwhelming heat. He hisses like a man burned. But he is careful still. Stiles is still impatient.

The first thrust sends the demigod forward. His entire body rocking with the force of Derek fucking him. He does not care, and pushes himself back against the man. Silently begging him. To which he happily obliges. Derek does not delude himself with romance or sweet, tender words. He fucks Stiles as he wants to be fucked. Hard. Fast. And without mercy.

The demigod breathes sharp and heavy. Derek latches onto his hair pulling his head back. Latching his mouth onto the man’s neck. Marking him with gentles bites and soft words. The other man laces his fingers into Derek’s hair. Pulling, ever so slightly. Encouraging him. Demanding him.

When he comes, Derek’s entire body tenses. His balls empty inside the other man. Painting his insides with come. Stiles shoots onto the trunk of the tree. Even though he had just emptied himself down Derek’s throat only minutes earlier. In fact, there seems to be more of it this time than the first. He gives one last hard, forceful thrust. Ensuring that his cock stays buried in the man. As well as his come. To ensure that Stiles absolutely reeked of him. That no other god could claim him.

He roars. He roars loud and fierce and without restrain. Hands clenching onto Stiles’ hips, keeping him in place. The other man does not seem to mind. In fact, he seems to enjoy Derek’s beastly debauchery.

They fall to the forest floor. Sweaty, exhausted, and covered in come. Derek buries his nose into the man’s neck. Running his tongue along the line of his pulse. Savoring the scent of their sex. Amazingly, Stiles is _still_ hard. His cock had not softened in the slightest. Derek was rather amazed. As a god of the hunt, his own loins seemed insatiable at times. Stiles seemed even more so. For which he found no issue with.

He gives the man a few slow, soft strokes. Feeling his pulse in the veins that run up the side. There is the smallest bead of precome at the tip. Derek swipes it with his thumb, bringing it to his mouth. Savoring the taste of the man’s lust as it spreads across his tongue. Stiles, for some reason, blushes. Derek just kisses him.

“That was…good. Really good, actually. You were enthusiastic.”

“I had plenty to work with. I’ve never had a cock such as yours. In fact, I’d like to have it again. This time, inside me.” Derek purred as he spoke. Enticing Stiles. daring him to take what he wanted. Daring him to take Derek.

“While that is as a wondrous idea, I do believe your little stunt has attracted the attention of the villagers. What was the about anyhow?”

Derek smiled. He smiled a smile he had not yet smiled before. The smile of a man before him. Debauched. Lustful. Consuming. Enticing. Beautiful. All the things that Derek had wanted. All the things that now laid before him. There was nothing else that he could have ever desired that he did not have in this moment.

“Let’s call it a declaration of might.”

Stiles laughs merrily. Kissing Derek in that soft, sweet way. Now that his mind was cleared of the fever of their lust. He savors it. Wanting the time it takes for them to slide together to last forever. Stiles wraps a leg over Derek’s. Head resting on his chest. Eyes fluttering and content. Derek felt himself overcome with the first wisps of slumber. Despite the fact that both of them were naked and covered in come while lying on the forest floor. He could not, for all the gods in this world or the next, find it in himself to be all that concerned. They could always bathe in the river when they woke up.

**Author's Note:**

> It's my own personal headcannon that Stiles is packing serious heat. It's also a personal headcannon that Derek loves every last inch of it. Thanks for reading, and thank you for sticking with me for as long as you have with this fandom. As always, much love.


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